


Coffee

by Anonymous



Series: took time (to let you know) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hufflepuff Kingsley Shacklebolt, Humor, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, POV Narcissa Black Malfoy, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 16:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13791768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Narcissa and Kingsley's friendship (and the potential for more) through coffee.---She blinked.And blinked again.Narcissa was out of it, but she was fairly certain that the strange cup in front of her had not been there when she sat down.“Thought you could use it,” came the distinct and smooth voice of Auror Shacklebolt.





	Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I haven't watched the HP movies in over five years. I haven't read the series full through in longer than that. I have absolutely no idea where this came from (a blatant lie: I saw KingCissa as a side pairing in a fic and my brain went 'well...shit.') so thus have no idea where this is going. This is au, and the gist of that is one of the death eater's spells at the quidditch world cup goes wide and hits Draco. Narcissa decides she's absolutely fed up with Lucius' shit, and turns him in (somewhere in that is Harry saving Draco and the beginning of drarry, but they're barely mentioned, so--). I wanted to write that first, but my brain is on both an angst strike and a plot strike, so you get this. That next one should be out next if I get around to writing more of this, though. Cheers!

**Dark Roast**

Narcissa had been in the Investigation Office for nearly twelve hours, and was starting to feel it. It was not a pleasant feeling—her skin was starting to crawl, and it felt like her spine was listing sideways out of her body. She snorted at the imagery, trying not to fall forward onto the stack of paper in front of her.

She’d only just gotten out of questioning, a cross examination of her part in the attack at the Quidditch World Cup.

_Who was participating in the attack?_

_The Carrows. Jugson. Crabbe. Her Husband._

_Do you know who initiated it?_

_Her Husband._

_Do you know who attacked the muggles present?_

_Her Husband. Alecto Carrow._

_Both the Carrow and Jugson residence were searched after the first War. Where did the masks come from?_

_Her Husband._

_Was this attack premeditated?_

_Yes._

_By Whom?_

_Her Husband._

_Who contributed the most to the plan?_

_Her Husband._

_Her Husband._

_Her Husband._

And again and again, from different angles and different officials and in different rooms, until she could recite her answers half asleep. Bile rose in her throat every single time, and the look on Lucius’ face when he realized she wouldn’t be rescuing him haunted her. Probably would until the end of her life. But Draco; but her _son_ , lying still in Potter’s arms from a curse cast by Lucius himself gone wide was enough to push her through it. It _had_ to be enough.

Now, though— _now_ , she felt a raw, animalistic horror rise up in her at the word floating off the page to her tired eyes.

_Divorce. Divorce. Divorce._

She’d failed, as a wife and mother and pureblood woman. She wasn’t supposed to be doing this, but everything in her wailed at the thought of staying willingly married to the man that had hurt her son for another second. It was worse than the wailing of the phantom of her own mother, in her head, as she stared at the line—first of many, that she had to sign.

She blinked.

And blinked again.

Narcissa was out of it, but she was fairly certain that the strange cup in front of her had not been there when she sat down.

“Thought you could use it,” came the distinct and smooth voice of Auror Shacklebolt. He was leaning against the desk she’d seated herself at. He’d been the one to drag Lucius to the Ministry. Both times—this time, it was very likely that Lucius was staying.

By her own hand.

She reached for the cup, and sniffed the tiny opening at the top. Coffee? She glanced up at Shacklebolt, mistrusting it and him.

He gave her a small smile. “It’s good; from a muggle shop down the road, but really good.”

She had to fight the instinctive jerk that would crush the cup in her hands, and send coffee over herself and the desk she was at. (And the papers. _The papers_.)

“Is this how Aurors get their enjoyment?” Narcissa demanded. “Taunting their key witness with this...this— ”

“It’s not a taunt, Lady Malfoy,” he interrupted her, gently but firmly. “It’s a peace offering. You have been tense the entire time you’ve been here, and I know you view this as both a betrayal of your morals and your family.”

Lady Malfoy.

Lady _Malfoy_.

She sniffed the coffee again. It did smell good.

Auror Shacklebolt had reached the door of the empty office before she called his name. _Kingsley Shacklebolt_. It rolled off her tongue entirely too easily.

He looked back at her curiously. “Thank you,” she said. Clear and precise. She lifted the coffee to him in a toast.

“You’re welcome, of course, Lady Malfoy,” he said. He was smiling again. She didn’t correct him on her name; it wouldn’t be hers soon, and she would enjoy it while it lasted. Still, she wondered what _Black_ (or _Narcissa_ , or _Cissa_ , or even—) would sound like from him.

She finally tasted the coffee. It _was_ really good.

 

**Coffee Shop**

A month later, and the trial still dragged on.

Narcissa was growing tired of facts and opinions masquerading as facts being hurled about again and again and again, as if _this_ time it would change someone’s mind. It never did. Even without her support, Lucius had connections abound, some extreme enough to risk their reputation being dragged through the mud if he was convicted.

Auror Shacklebolt had been a surprising constant, and an even more surprisingly trustworthy ally. He likely thought they were friends, and she wasn’t sure she could dispute that. If only to keep taking merciless advantage of the fact that no one would dare disturb a high ranking Auror with their office door closed. The first time she’d heard Kingsley laugh (Kingsley, _Kingsley_ now, if only in her head) had been when she’d barely escaped one of the interns sent after her for yet more testimony by hiding in his office. She hadn’t found it funny at first, but now the memory made a warmth spread in her chest.

It came to a head when Kingsley finally slammed a folder closed on his side of the desk.

“I, for one, am sick of this office,” he said with finality. Narcissa glanced guiltily at the sheaf of parchment. While she only hid here when she desperately needed a reprieve from the trial (Not public, thank Merlin. She would have cracked down the middle if she had to endure the press in addition to the Wizengamot.) for Kingsley he had to stay here unless he was out in the field.

He wasn’t looking at her like he resented her for this fact; he smiled like a schoolboy with a particularly hilarious secret. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Narcissa frowned, considering. “Where exactly did you have in mind?”

 

“A _muggle_ shop?” she hissed, leaning into Kingsley on instinct. It was chaos. She’d forgotten, but it was only the middle of the morning, and apparently all of muggle London decided they needed to be going to this exact shop. She had a bad feeling from the second Kingsley had told her to change into what he called a ‘pencil skirt’ and ‘blay-zer,’ and this only confirmed it.

“The coffee shop I get ours from,” Kingsley told her.

Narcissa huffed, pouting in acquiescence and walked through the door with him. She instinctively shuffled closer to him and grabbed his arm when the noise hit her fully. Possibly, she should be embarrassed by that, but she only pushed closer to him as the line slowly moved towards the ‘re-gis-ter.’

When they reached the counter, Kingsley rattled off an order he seemed to know by heart. Her turn. She glanced at the board, tilting her head and squinting. None of it was moving, highlighting the specials or the popular drinks. Though—

“Is that _really_ how much sugar is in this…specialty drink?” she asked.

The girl in front of her started, and blushed. “Yeah, sorry, but we have other drinks with a lot less sugar, more healthy, and—”

“No, no, that’s perfect,” she smiled. One of Kingsley’s eyebrows rose. “That’s the one I want.” The other eyebrow popped up to match. The girl gaped at her for a moment, before remembering herself and doing—something—to record they’re orders, and they were unceremoniously pushed to the side. Narcissa frowned, opening her mouth, but Kingsley used the hold she still had on him to tug her away.

Despite the mayhem, they had their drinks quickly, and were lucky enough to get two free seats. She suspected Kingsley was the only person currently alive that would ask her to stay in such a place longer than necessary. He was also the only person she would say yes to.

It slowly dawned on her that for the first time, they had each other’s undivided attention. They were ‘hanging out,’ as Draco would say. She cleared her throat awkwardly, picking at the strange guard on the outside of the cup.

“How’s your current case going? The one with the resurfaced Dark Artifact?” she asked, then wished she’d said nothing at all. Such a _plebian_ form of conversation.

He gave her a rueful smile. “Horribly,” he told her frankly. “And most of it is classified.” _As you well know_ , went unsaid. He continued smiling at her like it wasn’t a very clumsy attempt to have her nose somewhere it shouldn’t be; or like he thought the attempt endearing, or cute. This should have perturbed her more than it did; she was _not_ cute. He took a sip of his own coffee, and sighed in relief.

“Are you at least taking time for yourself?” she asked, genuinely concerned. He lived up to both his Hogwarts House and his family motto in his staunch work ethic, even if he was nothing like any Hufflepuff she’d ever met in every other respect. She didn’t care about many people, but Kingsley had somehow wormed his way into that select group.

“No,” he said, rolling his eyes and letting out a breath. “I can’t, I’m lead on the case. I need to be available for any developments, even if the French Minister insists on being an insufferable—” He bit his tongue, clearly realizing his mistake too late.

“French?” Narcissa questioned. “Not the Cursed Head case?” A French muggle celebrity had somehow found themselves in possession of a cursed head that, while ancient, was clearly British. From what little the article had said, she had three guesses who could have created it, and specific properties of the thing. She’d excelled at both DADA and the Dark Arts themselves, and while she found most of it distasteful in it’s brutality, it had been fascinating.

Kingsley sighed. “Of course you know about that,” and he barrelled on before she could correct him on the amount of knowledge she had. “We have no idea what we’re up against, and barely have room to move with the French Prime Minister breathing down our necks to get us to fix this. The only idea anyone has had is to trigger the thing and—”

“Absolutely not!” she near shouted. The surrounding tables got quiet, and Kingsley had jerked back. She bit her lip. While she held no love for the muggle who’d been harmed by this, actual harm coming to people was starting to appeal to her less and less, no matter their magical ability or how sanitary the process supposedly was. And the image of Kingsley being harmed by that _thing_ was—abhorrent.

“Do _not_ trigger that thing,” she ordered him. She had no place to, but she couldn’t, _could not_ , let him be harmed. “It is likely an aglamation of several natural jinxes, likely from space between land and water north of Ireland, possibly pixie in origin. If you studied those, you could find a cure, just _please_ do not put yourself in harm’s way.” From ordering to begging. How _pedestrian_.

Kingsley blinked at her. “How do you know that?” he demanded. “Did Lucius—”

“No,” she denied, though he very well could have. She’d kept as far away from the Darker aspects of their life as possible. “I’m fairly literate in this sort of thing, is all.”

Kingsley blinked at her owlishly, as if seeing her in a new light. “If I give you clearance, could you give this information to my partners?” he asked slowly.

Narcissa shrugged delicately. “I might be able to do more than that,” she responded. “I was going to tell you before you interrupted me; I’d only read the initial _Daily Prophet_ article. I don’t have much more information than the general public.”

Kingsley choked on the sip of coffee he’d been taking. “I’m giving you the files as soon as we get back to the Ministry,” he told her. “Are you going to drink that? It’ll have gotten cold.”

Narcissa realized she’d completely ignored the coffee in front of her. Discreetly, she tapped her wand against the side, and steam rose from it as she took a tentative sip. She gave a sound she _refused_ to call a squeak at the taste.

“That is _truly_ sweet,” she stated, half in awe.

Kingsley half got up out of his seat, worry on his face. “I’ll get you a different one, my treat,” he offered.

She grabbed his arm before he could get very far, though. “It’s _perfect_ ,” she said giddily, and turned the entire thing up and downed it in one long gulp.

Kingsley gaped at her through all the minutes it took for her to finish it. “That…you—all right, then,” he said weakly.

She eyed the line, judging how long it would take to get through it. “Quite,” she responded absentmindedly. “I think I’ll go get another.”

 

**Carafe**

“I’d say we go through here--” Nymphadora Tonks stabbed at one point on the map. “—but that’d only put the other marks at our backs, and if we lose the element of surprise, which with me we sure as shit would—”

A knock at Kingsley’s office door interrupted them. Kingsely and Tonks looked at each other, unsure of who would need to see Kingsley at ten at night on a weekday. The two of them were only here because they agreed: the decided course of action for capturing the suspected Dark Wizards hiding in the Alps was chock full of flaws. Everyone wanted a good catch for Christmas, and that was causing sloppiness. All Ministries involved would end up with shit on their faces if they went through with it, and it went inevitably tits up. Their hands went to their wands.

The knock came again, and this time Kingsley seemed to recognize the distinctive rhythm of it. He relaxed, dropping his hand, though Tonks did not. “Come in,” he said clearly; warmly.

The door opened, and a blond head poked around it. Tonk’s hand tightened on her wand when she recognized the person, though she frowned in confusion when said person not only ignored her, but held up a huge muggle coffee to-go container.

“I thought you might still be here,” Narcissa Malfoy said ruefully, stepping fully into the office and tugging off her cloak. Tonks gaped at her appearance. She was decked out in one of the richest robes Tonks had ever seen, dark blue and clinging to her and goddamn _sparkling_ when she moved. It wasn’t sparkle that caught Tonks off guard, though. The dress, for an old money traditional pure blood witch, was clearly a fuck-me dress. There were slits up both legs, at least to mid thigh, and the bodice ( _there was an honest to god bodice!!_ ) pushed her tits out and nearly over the top stiching. The sheer lace covering said tits did absolutely nothing to help, and her shoulders were completely bare.

Tonks regretted ever agreeing to go over the case; she might have been spared what was a clear attempt by her estranged-possibly-Death-Eater aunt to seduce her boss. And her boss—

“You have known me for how long, now?” Kingsley huffed. He took the cardboard carafe, giving Narcissa—Tonk’s aunt, Tonk’s _possibly psychotic aunt_ —a warm smile, but barely glancing at the dress. “Of course we’d need to nitpick the plan.”

—Was completely and utterly oblivious. _Or_ , Tonk’s horribly treacherous brain supplied, _they’d already been fucking so long this was old news._ Tonks felt queasy at the thought.

“Well,” _Oh sweet Circe’s tits is that a giggle_? “I brought you that, in case you needed the extra boost. I would have added some Pepper Up, but Christine and the other muggles working there know what they’re doing.” _How and why is her blood purist aunt on first name basis with a muggle_?

“Always,” Kingsley smiled, and his eyes did the crinkley thing they did with brassy new recruits he thought ‘had spunk,’ or with the few aurors he considered close enough to be family. And if that revelation wasn’t enough for Tonks to nearly pass out, he leaned over and kissed her hand.

The knuckles.

For a whole four seconds.

Tonks felt she might die.

Business clearly done, Narcissa hesitated before leaving. She glanced around the office, once again ignoring Tonks (who wasn’t sure whether to be offended or relieved). “You’ll let me know if you need consulting?” Narcissa asked. “It didn’t seem a particularly complex case, but you never know.”

“I am well aware of your expertise in Dark Magic, my lady,” Kingsley said. He walked around the desk, and—Tonks gaped—gently grasped _still fucking bare_ shoulders in his hands. “You trust me, do you not?”

Narcissa nodded.

“Then trust me now,” he said. “The people I have with me I trust with my life, and have trusted them with the lives of family, and we know each other better than anything. We will not fail. I’ll even be back for coffee this week.” Her aunt actually seemed to _melt_ at that, a small smile coming back to her face.

“All right,” Narcissa said, nodding. She almost seemed to sway forward, to collapse into Kingsley, but held upright. “All right. I’ll hold you to the coffee; you’re paying if you’re late.” She finally left. Kingsley went back to looking at the map as if absolutely nothing had just happened. He poured himself coffee in a mug that, now that Tonks thought about it, seemed entirely too marble-y and artsy for the man. The room was silent for a moment, before—

“Since when are you fucking Narcissa Malfoy?” Tonks shouted. Kingsley choked and spit coffee, spraying it all over the map. As he was coughing, Tonks hurriedly waved her wand and cleaned the mess, going over to thump him on the back. She probably should have waited a bit. Didn’t look too good if she accidently killed the lead on the mission, especially the night before the mission.

“May I ask…” Kingsley finaly spoke, slowly getting a hold of himself. “…what gave you that impression.” He seemed genuinely clueless.

“Did you _see_ what she walked in here wearing?” Tonks demanded. “If I weren’t here this desk would’ve been put to a very different use than the one now.” A beat, and Tonks scoffed at Kingsley’s still lost expression. “She’d been planning to get you to fuck her.”

“Don’t be preposterous,” Kingsley protested. “We’re good friends, and she just divorced her husband.”

Tonks started at that, but quickly recovered. “Be that as it may, you may want to explain that to Miss Robes-Slit-Up-To-My-Waist.”

Kingsley waved her off. “You are being ridiculous; they were barely above her knees.”

“So you _were_ looking!” Tonks shouted triumphantly. Sneaky; maybe a Slytherin wasn’t too bad a match for him.

Kingsley switched tactics. “She is a colleague! She consults on Dark Artifacts we find.”

“Oh I’m sure she’d _love_ to consult on _your_ Dark Artifacts,” Tonks said cheekily.

He sighed, moving around her to start packing up the map. “Alright, I don’t think we’re going to find anything better for a strategy, and we’re both clearly worn out.”

“Bet Narcissa thinks you could be more worn out.”

Kingsley glared at her. She stared back.

“We are friends,” he finally insisted. “ _Just_ friends.”

“Sure,” Tonks snorted. “And I’m Walburga Black’s favorite offspring.”

“Good _night_ , Tonks,” he said, now actually ushering her out the door.

“Sure, sure,” Tonk moved easily out the door. “Night, Mr. Malfoy-Shacklebolt!” The door slammed in her face.

Tonks was unperturbed, and bounded out the larger general DMLE office in one of her rare instances of dexterity. She had _so much_ to pester and gossip with her mother about now.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review, if you made it this far, it'd be much appreciated!


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